


To Honor and Obey

by gremlins-came-and-got-me (Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Activism, Argent Warning, Dead Hale Parents, Derek Has to Obey Orders, Derek and Stiles are the Same Age, Derek is cursed, Druids are the Only Supernatural Thing, Ella Enchanted AU, Gerard Argent Warning, Happy Ending, Human AU, Journalist Derek, Kate Argent Warning, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:06:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28392855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark/pseuds/gremlins-came-and-got-me
Summary: At his birth, Derek is cursed to obey any and all orders. He grows up without his family, taken away from them when a fire kills his parents and his sisters are adopted by another family. Fourteen years later, as a student of journalism, Derek fights for the land’s rights that the richest family, the Argents, violate on a regular basis.Stiles lost his mother when he was eight and he and his father moved away from Beacon Hills. Now he’s back, trying to help Allison Argent bring down her resource-laden family before they can do more damage to his used-to-be home. A chance encounter brings him back into Derek’s orbit and they resume their years-old feud with a side of friendship. Secrets are discovered, plots uncovered, and true love’s kiss just might be the answer to all their problems.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	1. Prologue

~ * ~

When Talia Hale went into labor three weeks early, the announcements got lost. They may have been helped by the fact that she let her six year old daughter Laura mail them, and Laura wasn’t always as reliable as she tried to be.

Of course, that didn’t stop Julia from waltzing into the middle of the delivery room in a tornado of light and sound that rattled everyone’s teeth. Derek, curled at Talia’s breast, took one look at the Druid and wailed.

“I bequeath to you, dear, dear,” Julia paused momentarily to stare down at Derek in Talia’s arms, “ugly child, the gift of obedience. Now, for the love of God, shut up!”

It would have been comical, Talia thinks later, much later, that Derek had swallowed the rest of his tears and stared solemnly at the gathered party.

Talia had jostled him, trying to get him to cry again. But, he’d just looked at her, unsettlingly, unblinkingly, and yawned.

“Oh don’t even do that,” Julia whined, waving her fingers. “Please, you have such an ugly baby,” she said to Talia.

“Get her out of my sight!” Talia growled, clutching Derek closer to her, feeling the wrongness seeping from her silent child. “And ban her while you’re at it!”

“Also,” her husband said, hand settling on Derek’s head, calming a child who did not need it, “find Deaton. See if he can reverse this stupid curse.”

“Curse?” Julia squawked. “I give no curses. Everything I do is a gift! You’ll see. No trouble with that one. No trouble at all.”

Derek hiccupped, turning his wide-eyed stare to the Druid and she shuddered, swirling her stupid tornado around herself as she danced out the window none of them had thought to lock.

When they went home two days later, Talia was thoroughly disgusted with both Deaton, the unhelpful bastard, and Julia, who had vanished and was nowhere to be found.

Of course it would be Derek who would be cursed like that. Her son, destined for great things, only to be trimmed before his prime could start.

Laura had a semi-useful gift of persuasion that Talia often outright ignored because she _could_. Derek had no such chance. Even Laura’s sort-of-but-not-really innocent comment of “Why does he eat so much? Does he really need to do that? Derek, don’t eat so much,” had resulted in fewer feedings.

Now, Talia’s breasts were sore and she couldn’t get Derek to latch on. It made her simultaneously tired and cranky.

She rubbed a hand over her face and tried to keep her groan silent.

“I wish we could take back his curse,” she lamented.

“What does it mean?” Laura asked, on tiptoes to peer down at her baby brother. For his part, Derek just stared back at her, expression once again solemn. He hadn’t cried since the first night.

Talia wished he would. It would make her heart stop hurting.

“It means,” she finally said, hand dropped onto Laura’s shoulder, to steer her six-year-old away from the baby, “you have to look out for him. Make sure no one hurts him or takes advantage of him. And that means you too.”

“But, Mom,” Laura whined, her gift shining through, “I don’t _want_ to! He’s too little for me. You should have had him at my age.”

Talia laughed softly. “If I could have,” she whispered. “I need to find Julia. See if she can reverse this curse.”

“Julia called it a gift,” Laura reminded her. Derek gurgled in his basket, as close to asking for attention as he seemed capable of. “Did Julia do a bad thing?”

“Yes,” Talia said. The easy answer. “Just, please. Don’t hurt your brother, for me.”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Promise?”

“Promise, Mama.”

~ * ~

Talia never did find Julia.

The fire made sure of that.

It was sad. No dry eyes for a week.

The whole Hale family was decimated. The only survivors: a crispy Uncle and three little orphans. All of them, Uncle Peter included, dressed in thick black coats to combat the chilly, rainy air.

In actuality, there was a single dry eye. It was Derek’s. No matter how many counter-spells or curse-breakers Deaton spelled him, Derek still was cursed to absolute obedience. And he still couldn’t cry. No one knew why. All the other commands could be reversed with a little research and a few herbs.

Laura stood tall, ten years old, cradling her little year-old sister, Cora, on her hip while Derek, a thin, stunted wretch of a four year old with wild hair, oversized front teeth, and a penchant for staring solemnly at things, clutched at her coattails.

Cora was gift-less. Julia hadn’t even shown up for her birth. She gravitated towards Derek, and as soon as she could speak, Laura planned to make her promise not to hurt their brother the same way Talia had made her promise so long ago.

Laura wrestled a sob down, unwilling to break in front of so many people, wanting her mom and dad and wondering just how in the hell she was supposed to take care of both her siblings.

She’d already screwed up. She’d accidently banned Derek from speaking, and it had taken almost a week for anyone to notice, despite the fact that he got in arguments with the Sheriff’s son for a whole year. Stiles, the Sheriff’s son, was always asking Derek to “Fluff off.” Derek would clarify that it was a question and then respond with a resounding “No!” every time Stiles answered affirmatively.

Deaton had readily fixed the problem, but the look he’d given Laura was pure disappointment. If Talia had given her that look, she wasn’t sure it wouldn’t have stung as much.

The graveyard was filled with people, the community of Beacon Hills pressing in at their backs, the Sheriff and Deaton at the forefront, all of them watching as Talia and James and a dozen aunts, uncles, and cousins were all laid to rest.

“…adoption,” the Sheriff murmured to Deaton when each child stepped forward to drop a handful of dirt onto their parents’ graves, Derek putting Cora’s fistful down as well as his own.

“Who’s adopting us?” Laura demanded. “We have no relatives left.”

She glared at the covering housing Peter, wrapped in thick bandages and blankets, aware that there still was one relative left, but one that was in no condition to help them.

Derek opened his mouth as if he had something he wanted to say, but then he closed it again, shrugging in agreement. He hadn’t seemed to miss his speech all that much, preferring instead to stare until he got his way, unnerved as his opponents usually were.

Deaton and the Sheriff shared a look that Laura knew meant they’d discussed it already. “No,” she said, hefting Cora up as the small girl began sliding down. Cora kicked her brand-new shoes against Laura’s shin, thumping a rhythm as out of sync as Laura’s pounding heart. “You’re not splitting us up.” She cut her eyes to Derek, willing them to understand that they couldn’t do that to _him_. Couldn’t leave him alone to fend for himself without his guardians.

Derek, for his part, stuck his thumb in his mouth and suckled. Laura knew she should dissuade him, but she was afraid of giving him another command.

“Ma!” Cora cooed against her skin, reaching a grabby hand toward Derek. For some damn reason, Derek was ‘Ma’ even when everyone kept telling Cora that Talia was ‘Ma.’ Now Talia would never be ‘Ma,’ would never hear Cora’s first full sentence. This sob escaped Laura before she could swallow it, and she turned her back so Deaton and the Sheriff (kind eyes despite their ‘adoption’ talk) couldn’t see her start crying. She finally set Cora down so she could toddle to Derek and latch onto his coat.

Cora copied Derek’s movements, tucking her thumb into her mouth and chewing at it. “Ma,” she mumbled around the digit, and Derek squared his shoulders, letting her snuggle close to him.

“We’ll stay with Laura,” he said quietly, around his own thumb, and Cora nodded as if she understood him. Maybe she did. Laura didn’t remember what it was like to be that young.

“Sheriff Stilinski,” Laura said, “who is going to adopt us?”

“Uh, well,” the Sheriff mumbled, scratching at the back of his head. He squinted at her, wincing when she cocked a hip and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Tell me,” she said, infusing her voice with Persuasion. Before her passing—murder, according to the rumors Laura wasn’t supposed to hear—Talia tried to teach the Sheriff’s department how to navigate her gift. Luckily—Laura suppressed a slight sob—Talia hadn’t had enough time, and she noticed the Sheriff’s resolve wavering.

“Technically, you’re not being adopted, but you are being split up.”

Laura growled. “You can’t separate us.” She glanced at Derek and Cora again, and the Sheriff followed her gaze.

He winced again, taking in Derek sucking on his thumb while holding Cora’s hand as she chewed on hers and mouthed ‘Ma’ into Derek’s coat. “Well. Actually, you and Cora are going to live with the McCalls while Derek will stay with Dr. Deaton.”

“What if I said no?” Laura asked, and the Sheriff shook his head.

“Laura, you’re ten. You don’t have a say. As soon as Peter is healthy enough, he’ll probably get custody of all three of you. Until then, it’s best Derek is placed with someone intimate with his condition. That’s Deaton, whether you like it or not.”

“I don’t like it. At all.”

“Too bad, kiddo.” He ruffled her hair, and she slapped at his hand.

“Just, let me tell them? Please?”

He nodded, motioning to Deaton, who started waving away the funeral-attendees. Both men stepped back, conversing quietly with Peter’s nurse.

Laura drew in a deep breath and walked to where Derek was still sucking his thumb. “Why are you doing that?” she asked him, and he shrugged.

“Mama didn’t want me to but she never told me to stop.”

Laura nodded. “Well, I’d like you to not do it, but I won’t tell you either.” She picked up Cora and rocked her. Cora stared at her balefully.

“Who are we going to live with?” Derek asked. “Our house is gone.”

“The McCalls—you remember, Scott’s mom and dad?—they’re going to have Cora and me.”

“What about me?”

“You’ll be with Dr. Deaton.”

“What if I don’t want to be with Dr. Deaton?”

Laura let her Persuasion show, trying to bite back the Obedience factor of Derek. “This is what’s best.” It was not, but a quick glance at the Sheriff showed that despite his conversation with Deaton and the nurse he was still watching her. She turned her attention back to Derek. “Listen, please, you need to go with Dr. Deaton or something bad might happen to you.”

His lower lip quivered and she sighed. “No. Please don’t cry.”

“I can’t cry, remember?” he said. “I don’t want to be sent away. I don’t want Dr. Deaton to be my parent. I want _you_.”

“I can’t be a parent. I’m not even going to be Cora’s parent. The McCalls are.”

“Why can’t I live with the Sheriff?”

“The Sheriff already has Stiles. Do you really want to live with him?”

Derek thought about it seriously before shaking his head. “No,” he finally said, thumb firmly back in his mouth.

And that settled it.

Laura took Cora by the hand and followed the Sheriff to where the McCalls were waiting by the cemetery gates. She refused to look back. Didn’t want to see Derek not crying as Deaton took custody of him.

It wasn’t fair that their family was being broken apart, and even more that none of the adults seemed to realize just how they were hurting the Hales.

~ * ~


	2. One

~ Ten Years Later ~

Derek clicked his camera, taking pictures of the fountain while the rest of his Intro to Journalism class followed the teacher, hanging on his every word. Derek had realized quickly that the teacher knew only the technical aspects and had no field experience. He had elected, then, to not listen as closely.

After all, he had his own sources. He was a journalist in everything but a job.

Derek had written seven articles to date, all published under a pseudonym. He didn’t need his teacher feeling shown up and accidentally ordering Derek to do something unethical.

It had happened once before. Derek had been ill and had gone to see a doctor. No one had warned the doctor about Derek’s—ahem—condition, and he had been jokingly ordered to strip and lie on the bed.

A few horrified minutes later, and Derek was dressed again and in another doctor’s office.

That doctor still avoided him.

“Derek Hale!” the teacher yelled suddenly. Derek flashed him a smile, ambling up to the group. “Care to share what you’ve been so preoccupied with?”

Derek tested his teeth on the words. Not an order. Still, couldn’t hurt to make everyone a little suspicious of the event today. “The fountain,” he said. “It was installed just last week. They had to run special pipes just to get the water here. Why?”

No one answered.

That’s okay. They don’t know the answer anyway.

“It’s because the water is coming from a protected pond. The Argents have diverted a natural resource.”

“And why would they do that?” the teacher demanded.

“If the water is here and not in the protected pond, then it isn’t protected anymore,” Derek explained, patiently. “It’s a loophole, and not a legal one either.”

Indeed, if it came out that the Argents were stealing water from a protected source…well, that would be bad for the Argents. They’d only come to the area about ten years ago, but already the lands were barren, overproducing materials for the Argent empire, leaving little resources for her people.

Derek was looking forward to this exposé. Too long had the Argents been given free reign over Beacon Hills. Their desperate squandering of resources should be held against them, but the old Sheriff had moved when his wife died ten years prior, and the new Sheriff was in the Argents’ pocket. Which Derek had discovered four articles ago.

A few of the other students scoffed when the teacher did too.

“You think too much,” the teacher said, and Derek held his breath, waiting for the sentence. “I’d prefer if you didn’t do it during my class.”

Derek let out his breath in a sigh of relief. Wording is everything. He hadn’t been ordered not to think, and even if his “gift” had recognized the order, it would have only been limited to the two hours on Mondays and Wednesdays instead of all the time.

“Yes, sir,” he said, belatedly, wincing when he received a frown in response. He half expected another rebuff but it didn’t come, the teacher choosing instead to turn on his heel and march away. Derek slung the strap of his camera around his neck and hurried to follow, the rest of the class falling in line too.

~ * ~

Stiles was bored out of his mind. He didn’t know why he decided to come back to Beacon Hills for his college education aside from the fact that there were a series of articles published about the current state of things.

Ever since Stiles’ dad had retired and run when Mom died fourteen years ago, the articles alleged, Beacon Hills had been stripped of its natural resources, overproduction of supplies for Argent corporations as far away as the other side of the country.

Stiles wanted to help, but he didn’t know how.

He supposed the first step would be to find this Eric Shale reporter and ask him if he had any ideas on how to help.

Of course, he’d wanted to be of help to Eric Shale, so he’d enrolled in Intro to Journalism without realizing two things: One: the teacher is an arrogant piece of shit, too full of his own prowess to actually see in front of his nose, and two: Stiles’ elementary school rival is in this class.

Just his luck. Derek Hale was a creepy child when he was four years old. Stiles would bet that he’s still creepy at eighteen.

He knew that it was because he’d been gifted something as a baby, but Derek didn’t mingle with others. Even as a four year old when he should have been at his most tactile, Derek preferred to stand in a corner and observe the other children.

Stiles wasn’t the nicest either, often spending time at a table with a puzzle because he got caught telling Derek to fluff off.

Derek was a little more chatty this time around, fairly spitting that information about the Argents stealing water from a protected source. Stiles was suitably impressed. So Derek wasn’t a passionless being. Good to know.

And he wasn’t half bad looking either. Stiles could recall what they looked like at eight and Derek was…improperly proportioned, to put it nicely.

He’d definitely grown into his ears and limbs, less coltish and more grace.

And Stiles was thinking with his dick again.

The joy of being a teenager with a working libido and a predilection for attractive people.

He shoved his thoughts to the back of his head and fell into step behind Derek as he trailed their professor as he led them through the recent addition to Argent Mansion.

The Argents were spenders of the extreme, bleeding the land dry just to show how rich they were.

No wonder Eric Shale and Derek Hale didn’t like them.

Stiles’ eyes crossed and he wondered how anyone could have been fooled for so long. Eric Shale and Derek Hale were the same person. It was so obvious.

Great. Stiles had come to meet his rival whom he was attracted to now. What even was his life?

Well, life could be worse. They could actually be meeting the Argents on this glorified tour. Stiles had gone to school with the patriarch’s granddaughter, Allison.

She wasn’t so bad, but it was mostly because her father, Gerard’s son, wasn’t actually involved in the family business. Everyone still treated Allison like the sun shone out of her butt, but Allison did her best to dissuade them. In fact, it had been Allison who had given Stiles Eric Shale’s articles and expressed a desire to meet the man.

She couldn’t actively go against her grandfather, but Stiles had promised to change his future, go back to where it still hurt to walk, just to get her some answers. Little had he known that he would have been sucked into Allison’s cause.

And Derek’s apparently too.

Derek had a camera that he used to take pictures of the egregious offenses of the Argents. Stiles knew there would be an article soon. Eric Shale was thorough.

Stiles’ dad, now a marshal traveling the country for wrongdoers, often used the same sources as the mysterious journalist. He knew because his dad talked about Eric Shale incessantly and how their paths were inevitably going to cross, he hoped sooner than later.

Okay, so maybe Allison hadn’t been able to indoctrinate Stiles so easily because Stiles already believed.

His dad was on a manhunt right now, searching for a mass murderer, so Stiles, who wanted to follow in his dad’s footsteps, had volunteered to go back to Beacon Hills and see if he could find Eric Shale so that his dad could protect him when the Argents retaliated.

Allison was a welcome friend.

Together, they were going to take down her grandfather and save Beacon Hills (and probably the world).

And maybe Stiles could overlook Derek’s creepy tendencies and get his help too. That is, if Derek didn’t remember that Stiles used to torment him.

Stiles was such a dick as a child.

“Stilinski!” the professor barked.

Stiles startled. “Uh, yes, sir?”

“Are you paying attention at all?”

Stiles looked around, taking in the sweeping copse of trees they now found themselves in the middle of. He turned back to the professor. “No?”

The professor sighed. “You and Hale will partner for a report on the expansions to Argent Mansion.” He pointed a long, accusing finger at Derek. “And no untruths. I will know if you lie.”

Derek muttered under his breath, something that sounded suspiciously like, “Orders like that can only backfire.” Which is a mystery in and of itself.

But the tour was done and they had to head back to school, so Stiles decided he would ask about it later. After all, Professor Harris had assigned them to work together so it wasn’t like Derek could dodge Stiles’ questions.

Well, he could, but—

Derek tapped on Stiles’ forehead. “Don’t think so much,” he said, jokingly. “You might hurt yourself.”

Stiles snapped his teeth at him. “Why don’t you fluff off?” he ordered, with almost no heat.

Derek grinned, slow and predatory. “Is that an order?” he asked, and Stiles was four years old again, standing over Derek as he methodically snapped crayons into pieces.

“No,” Stiles said, deflating. “Just a suggestion.”

Derek had only ever broken his own crayons, and their preschool teacher had told them it was because Derek had no other outlet for emotion. If he felt something strongly, he would sit at the table and break crayons. Everyone else got to cry for a few minutes or scream and then they were over it.

Stiles never understood why Derek had such a different emotional response, but even at four, he understood that he shouldn’t order Derek around.

He was the only one with that compunction. He recalled the way Derek used to have to give the best bits of his lunch to Jackson Whittemore or share his toys even if he’d only just started playing.

“So, about this report thing Harris wants from us…”

“I’ve got ideas,” Derek said, showing Stiles a notepad filled with bullet points. “And you heard Harris: he gave me an order.” He grinned again, and it somehow looked even more predatory. Stiles swallowed hard. He shouldn’t be attracted to that face, and yet…

“What’s with the order thing?”

Derek shrugged. “Tell you later.”

They sat together, near the back of the bus. Harris pointed at them to remind them that he was keeping an eye on them.

Stiles stuck his hand out to Derek. “Stiles Stilinski.”

Derek took his hand gingerly, shaking it once. “Derek Hale. We already knew each other though.”

“Yeah, but that was when I was a kid. I’d like to get to know you, the real you. If you’ll let me.”

“Sure. That sounds great.”

Then Derek turned to the window and stared out. Stiles felt a little miffed. _Sure, sounds great_ , he thought a little bitterly. So why ignore him now?

He didn’t get an answer before they got back to Beacon Hills College and had to go their separate ways. He didn’t even get a phone number for Derek either.

~ * ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unedited. Story will be fully edited after final posting.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Two

~ * ~

Derek finished his classes, wrote up the outline for Harris’ assignment, went to email a copy to Stiles, and realized that he had completely forgotten to get any sort of contact information for him.

He smacked his forehead and then put his pants back on, and trudged over to freshman hall.

He resolutely ignored his sisters’ cackling at him. He was well known to never go out again if he took his pants off first thing after getting home. Well. This was important. This was securing an A in Harris’ class. Or at least, not giving him a reason to fail Derek.

Derek could have lived in freshman hall, but after the horror stories of what was Derek’s elementary and early high school careers, as soon as she turned eighteen, Laura had adopted both him and Cora. She had done her best not to order him around, and had even tried not to use her persuasion on people. Still, Derek had gotten trapped in a dozen different chores before Laura realized that she wasn’t asking him.

They had, in the four years since the adoption, figured out that if Derek could make himself think that it was a request or a question instead of an outright order, then he stood a better chance at ignoring the compulsion to do what he was ordered.

It meant that, as soon as Derek had started putting on muscle weight and had backed Jackson Whittemore into a corner and just stared at him, Jackson now left him alone.

The others sensing that Jackson was terrified of Derek, backed off too, and altogether, Derek had a rather pleasant experience the remaining three years of high school.

He still didn’t feel comfortable living on campus. Too many new people who would quickly figure out that Derek had to do what they said. Laura didn’t like him out of her sight for too long, but could allow herself to be talked into letting him have some freedom.

Now, Derek trudged up and down the hall, looking at the nameplates stuck to the walls beside the doors. Some sort of freshman orientation.

He finally found Stiles’ room, shared with a Scott McCall—from the family his sisters used to live with. He hadn’t seen Stiles’ name at first because it was just a bunch of letters in front of Stilinski, and on Derek’s fourth pass, some had taken a marker and crossed out those letters and filled in Stiles.

Derek knocked. Stiles answered.

“Thought that was you,” Stiles said, twirling a Sharpie in his fingers. “Come in.”

Derek stepped into a room that was distinctly teenage boy, two hampers already overflowing with sweaty and stinky clothes, the beds bundled into bunks, desks pushed across the room, and a large, stained green rug rolled out into the middle of the floor. There’s a TV set on a dresser on one end of the room, the other dresser littered with books and papers on the opposite side.

“Dude,” Scott was saying, “she’s so pretty! Can you introduce us?”

Stiles pointed at the top bunk. “My roommate, Scott McCall. My best friend from before I moved.”

“I’m aware,” Derek said dryly. Stiles frowned at him, clearly catching the distaste in his tone. Before he could say anything, Scott opened his mouth again.

“Seriously, dude,” Scott’s tone was completely lovelorn, and Derek mentally gagged at it. “She’s gorgeous! Why haven’t I met her? Why have you?”

“Knock it off, Scott. We got company.”

Derek pulled out his flash drive, the one he didn’t care if people found because all it contained were assignments from his classes. “I did the outline for Harris’ report,” he explained, handing it to Stiles. Stiles marched to the dresser with books and dug around until he found a laptop.

“Sorry. I know we moved in, like, a week ago, but neither of us are terribly neat.”

Derek rolled his shoulders. “I don’t mind,” he said. He didn’t. Laura wasn’t neat either, and sometimes when she got drunk, she’d look around and cry because she thought it meant she was being a bad guardian.

Those were the days Derek cleaned extra hard because he hadn’t been told but wanted her to know that he thought she was doing a great job.

Deaton, for all he knew about the curse and was careful with Derek, was not a particularly kind or gracious guardian, and Derek had found himself missing his sisters more and more the longer he spent reading tomes and researching ways to break his curse under Deaton’s guidance.

It wasn’t that Deaton was a bad or indecent man. He just wasn’t what Derek needed, and no matter how they begged, the Hales were never reunited. And their one chance before Laura turned eighteen was for their uncle to heal enough to care for them, but by the time he was conscious and talking, he was no longer their Peter, and none of them had wanted to ask him to take them in. Peter had since left Beacon Hills, and Derek didn’t know how to contact him.

Now, Derek was standing in the middle of Stiles and Scott’s dorm room, trying to breathe through his mouth because their combined stench was overwhelming and he didn’t want a bad grade in Harris’ Intro to Journalism class.

“Dude, this is awesome,” Stiles said. “Do you want me to expand on this at all? The paper is due on Monday so either I can work on it today, give it back to you tomorrow, or we can meet up for the weekend to work on it?”

Derek had plans this weekend. Eric Shale had a source he was meeting, someone close to the Argent family. “You can get it back to me tomorrow,” he said. He dug in his pockets again until he found his notepad and a pen. He wrote down his name, phone number, and email address and tore the page out to hand to Stiles.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said. “Nice to meet you, Scott.”

As the door shut behind him, he heard Scott start in again about meeting Stiles’ pretty friend. Derek suppressed a smile.

He had never had a friend. Deaton hadn’t allowed him to get close to anyone, worrying that people would figure out the curse and use it against him.

_“You’re the perfect weapon,”_ Deaton used to tell him. _“All they have to do is just tell you who to assassinate and you’ll do it.”_

Maybe living with Laura had made Derek forget a little bit about the orders he used to have to follow, but he couldn’t ever truly forget. Not when he still couldn’t cry.

When he got back to the apartment, Laura and Cora were in the middle of packing some bags. Derek raised an eyebrow.

“Going somewhere?”

Cora was fifteen and supposed to be at school tomorrow. Laura had work. Both looked guilty.

“We have a lead,” Laura said softly. “I’m sorry. I know you want to come with us, but you’ve got so many important things going on.”

“You’ll have to order me to stay here,” Derek threatened. Laura took both of his hands in hers.

“Don’t make me,” she whispered, tears in her eyes.

Cora had no compunctions, pushing her way between them. “Derek, you are to go to school, do all the normal things you would, and just live your life. The only real rule you have to obey is you cannot follow Laura or me.”

Derek frowned at her, parsing her words.

Cora watched him before growling. “Derek Hale! You will not follow Laura or me until we come back to Beacon Hills. You will live your days as you have been, but _you will not follow us._ ”

Derek made a dismissive clicking noise with his tongue. He was more disappointed that Cora seemed to have found the right words to make him obey her than he was mad that she’d obviously used his curse against him.

He stormed to his room and threw himself on his bed, just listening as his sisters continued stuffing clothing in their suitcases.

He sighed before hauling himself up and marching to their room. He grabbed Cora’s bag, dumped everything out, and over her protests, nowhere close to being orders, refolded her clothing so that it took up half the space.

“In case you find something worth bringing back,” he said. “Or you can put Laura’s clothes in there too and that way you don’t have to take two bags.”

He didn’t look at either of them as he folded Laura’s clothes too.

Laura stopped him before he could escape back to his room.

“I don’t want her to hurt you more,” she explained, as she had so many times before, except this time she was taking Cora with her.

“What’s she going to do?” Derek asked. “Curse me more?”

“She could.”

“She couldn’t,” he countered.

Laura hugged him. “I won’t take that chance, okay? I can’t have her hurt you more.”

Derek allowed the hug for a few more minutes than he normally would have, mostly because he knew how hard she’d been searching for Julia Baccari all these years. Unconfirmed rumors had led her all over the country. If she thought she was close, then he should be happy. Maybe the nightmare was nearly over.

When Laura finally pulled back, Derek held out his hand to Cora. She snorted at it before using it to pull him into a tight squeeze.

“We’ll be back inside of a week,” she said.

Derek waved them off and returned to his room. He didn’t think he’d sleep, but something about the day wiped him out and he didn’t even get to start his article about Argent wastefulness before he was snoring.

~ * ~

Stiles finished his homework quickly and then, with Scott’s bellyaching still ringing in his ears, he begged privacy to call his dad and sneaked down to the campus library.

As soon as he sat down on the bench by the front doors, a pretty brunette, rosy, dimpled cheeks, bashful smile, sat next to him.

She tucked a long, loose curl behind her ear. “Stiles.”

“Allison.”

Allison looked around. “It’s a little cold here, isn’t it?”

Stiles followed her gaze, noting the dozens of students still scurrying around. it was neither cold nor late. Allison was right: they stood out.

“I know somewhere warmer,” he said, standing up and offering his hand to her. They walked in silence around the library until they were at an alcove Stiles had discovered when he and Scott were exploring last week. It had the architectural miracle of dampening sound once it passed the lip of the roof. Nothing said here could be eavesdropped on unless the eavesdropper was standing on top of them.

They could discuss whatever they wanted to and no one could hear it unless they were visible or invited in, Stiles explained.

Allison still swept it for listening devices, claiming that just because Stiles and Scott had accidentally discovered the properties of the structure, it didn’t mean someone hadn’t designed it for this express purpose or that others didn’t know about it.

As soon as she gave the all clear, he leaned in close to her, whispering, “I know who Eric Shale is.”

Allison didn’t react. Stiles hadn’t thought she would. He wasn’t trying to catch her in a lie. He just wanted her to know that he was truly her friend. If she asked him to keep Eric’s identity a secret, he would. It meant more to him that Allison had sought him out during her rebellion from her family and trusted him with her secret.

Obviously she trusted Eric Shale too because Stiles had re-read some of Eric’s articles and realized that the only inside source he could have was Allison herself.

He thought it was maybe only obvious to him, but he wanted Allison to know that someone, even if it was just him, had connected them.

“And how do you know Eric?” she replied, almost flippantly, but still in a whisper. Acoustics couldn’t outweigh paranoia.

“I just do,” Stiles said. “Maybe we can all get together sometime. I mean, you’re thinking of transferring here, right?”

“Right, but that’s still dangerous. If my grandfather discovers the real reason I wanted to come here, then he’ll try to kill us all.”

Stiles had no compunctions that Gerard Argent, patriarch of the Argent wealth and Allison’s aging grandfather, would have them killed for just discussing the things they are.

He ruled with an iron fist with an equally brutal and dangerous steel fist. There were stories of people who dared to voice dissension and disappeared. Rumor had it they were killed in medieval ways, Gerard being a scholar of the particularly brutish manner of deaths.

Stiles could appreciate how dangerous the knowledge of Eric Shale was, and he wished Derek had chosen a less obvious pen name.

Gerard would need even less time or reason to link the two together and then Derek would be put to death.

Derek may have been a weird child Stiles knew as a kid, but he still didn’t want him to die because of a man abusing the power granted to him by his money.

“So, what is the plan for tonight?”

Stiles smiled at Allison. “Would you like to meet my roommate? Fair warning, he saw your picture and literally fell in love.”

Allison laughed. She was used to guys throwing themselves at her. As the heir apparent—she was an only child and her aunt had no children as of yet—of the Argent empire, dating was always an exercise.

Mostly because Gerard liked to interrogate her suitors.

Well, Scott knew nothing of the Argents aside from the fact that they’d built the mansion in the middle of Beacon Hills. Stiles didn’t even think he knew of Eric Shale’s articles or of the rumors that swirled around the Argents.

“Does he know who I am?” she asked.

“Nope.”

Allison paused, her thinking-face firmly set before nodding. She stuck out her arm and Stiles looped his through it. “Lead on.”

Stiles swept her down the stairs and onto the path.

“Okay, so his name is Scott McCall. He was born here in Beacon Hills. He’s an asthmatic and not too bright, but he’s a hard worker and really generous—when he remembers to be.”

“He sounds fun.”

“Oh he is. You’re gonna like him. If he does anything you don’t like, let me know and I’ll get him to behave.”

Allison laughed again, clinging onto Stiles’ arm a little more. “I’m sure,” she said. “Hey, Stiles. Thanks for being my friend.”

“No worries.”

Stiles was a little worried about introducing Allison to Scott, but aside from flailing around when he realized just who was in their dorm room, Scott was the perfect gentleman, and Allison did indeed seem enchanted. She and Scott exchanged numbers and then Stiles reminded Scott about the rest of his homework.

He walked Allison back to her car, promising to call her tomorrow after class. She already had a good night text from Scott that made her smile all over again.

Once she had driven away, and Stiles was back at his dorm room, he packed his bag for the following day, having come to the realization that he would forget important things if he didn’t do this step, and changed into sleep pants and a t-shirt.

Things were going great so far. Allison and Scott were hitting it off, not that Stiles would push either of them to have a relationship, and he had the chance to reconnect with Derek Hale.

Yeah. Things couldn’t get much better.

~ * ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check [my Tumblr](https://1989dreamer.tumblr.com) for updates.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> If you think I'm missing a tag, please let me know. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Check out [my Tumblr](https://1989dreamer.tumblr.com) for more writing updates.


End file.
